


toy guns and roses

by orphan_account



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Gen, spoilers for 111
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuuma and farewells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	toy guns and roses

**Author's Note:**

> posting this up before the actual episode slaps me in the face

He’s always known, somewhere in his heart, that Astral would leave one day—he isn’t of this world after all; but Yuuma didn’t like goodbyes, one of the few things he loathed—he despised facing farewells, because the most important people to him always tended to be the ones to deliver them, whether they were there to do so or not, and it’s a maddening fact that swims around him every single day when he stares at the memorabilia in the attic before he falls asleep at night, reminded of his mother’s warm embrace, his father’s reassuring laughs and pats on his back, and the current absence of them in his life.

But Astral’s there, and he’s not saying goodbye yet, not before Yuuma manages to catch him one last time, grab his hand one last time—but he’s fading, surely, time’s running out, and there’s no way he’s going to let him just go—he’s not going to let another person leave him without a proper goodbye. He can’t accept this.

Astral’s smiling—Yuuma wants to scream, yell at him, ask him why he’s smiling when he’s going to disappear, but he finds himself smiling too, because, yeah, they sure gave it their all, didn’t they? Sweat intermingled with tears and curling blood and the throats they shouted hoarse, they had a good run. His lips are salty as he licks the corners—salt mixed with bitterness and the tang of sourness he hated when he picked the wrong orange off the plate… things should never have come to this, but he knows even as he blames himself that Astral would berate him if he could, and if not Astral then Shark, Kotori, Kaito, they’d do it for him, but he still hopes for what could have been anyway, as the wishing pennies he chucks miss their mark because the past is already out of reach.

He swallows, and his throat is so dry and sandy, but he pictures an oasis that isn’t there, and a yell tears out of him for Astral, just to reaffirm that he’s still there, not yet gone, even a second more would be alright—as if volume would slow the flakes of light coming away from Astral—

Yuuma grasps, and those pale blue fingers are as cool as he remembers them to be, he intertwines his fingers within them, to have as much of Astral encased in them, because he’s not ready to let Astral go yet, he never will be; but even those fingers are disappearing as well, and Yuuma tightens his grip as Astral does the same, looks into those eyes of gold and white that always were always bright in curiosity and observation, now frowned at the edges trying to convey the words he does not have the time to speak, knowing very well of his imminent… Yuuma refuses to think of the word. Victory shouldn’t feel like this.

Barely translucent now—but he continues holding onto Astral, as if his life depended on it, and if he really thought about it, there wasn’t much figurativeness in that analogy. He’s about to lose his partner, whom he’s come to regard as a half of him; it’s Astral who says it first, “goodbye,” and Yuuma feels the knife sink deep into his chest and  _twist_ , as he stares unblinking as Astral’s light fades, bit by bit, and then all at once, a star in its final day.

As he grasps at specks, and then emptiness, he chokes on a laugh. It occurs to Yuuma that he didn’t get to say it again.

_Goodbye, Astral._


End file.
